


we envy the dead

by Skyuni123



Category: Internet Personalities, Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: (no death of the main characters btws), Apocalypse, BBC Radio 1, Dogs, End of the World, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Love, M/M, Minor Character Death, Nuclear Warfare, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Nuclear War, Radio, Sad, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-05 07:23:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 14,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12789645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyuni123/pseuds/Skyuni123
Summary: daniel howell's final message on bbc radio 1 is an announcement of a nuclear bomb heading straight for the uk. phil lester is a camera operator stuck in the middle of nowhere.the world is on fire and their only constant is each other.





	1. the broadcast

Daniel Howell didn’t really put much stock into how he would die.

 

Aside from the odd intrusive thought - like when he was walking over a bridge and he looked down at the water below and thought ‘ _hey, I could always jump off here’_ \- but everyone had those.

 

Death was just a _thing,_ and aside from the usual self-deprecation and that one time in year four when he got trapped in a caretaker’s shed for twenty minutes and thought that he was going to die, he really didn’t put much serious thought into it.

There were other things to care about, like video games and how much trouble he’d get into if he stole his neighbour’s shiba inu.

Times had… changed.

  


2018 started well for him. He was a radio announcer for BBC Radio 1, on one of their afternoon shows. He had a modest apartment, enough money to live comfortably on, and a dog next door that would happily lavish him with licks every time he walked past. The only thing that was really missing in his life was a partner, and he could deal with that. It was a good life.

 

That is, until, his news bulletin at 1.32pm on January 15th.

 

Now, usually, he got the short end of the stick. He was one of the younger presenters on the channel, so they saddled him with news bulletins whenever one of the older presenters couldn’t be arsed.

(He’d been subbing in for one of his friends on the morning show the day after Donald Trump won the 2016 presidential election. Having to break that news to the entire country didn’t exactly make it onto his list of career highlights.)

 

Monday January 15th, was worse, though.

 

Ed Sheeran's _Shape of You_ was about halfway through when one of the junior news reporters, a good kid called Sarah, came running through the door, flagrantly ignoring the ‘On Air’ sign.

“Sarah - what the hell?” Dan had his feet up on the recording desk and was halfway through a glass of Ribena, which he narrowly avoided spilling as he jumped to his feet. “What’s going on?”

She tossed him a press release and headed out the door without a word. Nick, his producer, caught the door and came barrelling in after him. “It’s bonafide, Dan. Cut the song and read it.”

 

“What?” He’d not even had a chance to read the damn thing. “It’s-what?”

“It’s an emergency broadcast.” Dan had never heard Nick sound so panicked before. “Cut the song, and read it. Hurry up.”

“Uh, okay, yeah?” Dan skimmed the release, only catching the words ‘emergency’ and ‘underground’ in his panic. It’d have to do. He put his headphones back on, faded the song out and took a deep breath.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, we interrupt this programme to bring you an Emergency Wartime Message.”

 

What? Hang on… Dan barreled on through, trying hard to ignore the nausea hanging in the pit of his stomach.

 

“The United States has been attacked by nuclear weapons.”

 

_Fucking hell._

 

“Our military believes that an attack on our country will be imminent. Communications may be severely disrupted and there will be damage to infrastructure. Please take cover underground, or inside away from doors and windows. Have enough water and food for up to a week.”

 

He breathed deeply, trying hard not to let it show in his voice. He needed to give the country this message. He couldn’t panic, because it would panic them.

 

“We-we shall bring you f-further information as soon as possible. M-m-meanwhile, stay tuned to this wavelength, stay calm, and remain in your homes or places of work. End of message. Message repeats-s-”

 

His hands were shaking. Why were they shaking? A hand slammed down on the keyboard in front of him, switched his microphone off and programmed the piece to repeat on the air indefinitely. “Dan. Dan?” 

It sounded like it was coming from underwater.

“Dan?”

“Dan!” He was woken from his fugue by Nick slapping him across the face. “You did fucking well, kid. Come on.” Nick stuffed his phone in his pocket, grabbed Dan’s messenger bag from beneath the desk and slung it over his shoulders, then pushed him out the door.

 

He was trying really hard to keep a grip on things, but the lump in his throat wasn’t helping with that.

 

“Where are we going?” He choked out, balling his hands into fists to stop them shaking as he walked.

“The BBC has precautions in case of ...incidents… like this.” Nick replied, voice tense. “Somewhere safe.”

“What about everyone else?” Dan waved a hand out at general ‘London’ as Nick pushed open the outer door and dragged him through it.

“What do you think, Dan?” Nick swallowed. “Look, we only do what we can. You’re a lucky one. With luck, this’ll just be a… misunderstanding. It’ll blow over. They won’t even fire at us. Get in.”

He opened the door to a waiting taxi and ushered Dan into it. “Stay safe, Dan.”

 

“Aren’t you coming?”

 

Nick looked at him, regret apparent in his eyes. “Broadcasters first. I’ve got to get everyone else out then I’ll follow. You understand.”

“You’re not serious, Nick. Come on.” Dan tries to get out of the taxi, but Nick grasps him gently by the shoulders and pushes him back in.

“ _Go,_ Dan. I’ll be right behind you.”

“But-”

 

“Go!” Nick tapped on the driver’s window and gestured away from them. “Stay safe, Dan.” He slammed the door shut and stepped back from the curb before Dan could reopen the door, and the taxi roared off.

 

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Fuck!

 

Dan fastened his seatbelt, hoping that he’d see his friend again.

 

The driver was driving like a maniac through the backstreets of London - which were pretty full, come to think of it - and Dan was freaking out, his world blurring around at the edges. He needed to calm down. He needed to breathe. Why couldn’t he breathe?

He leaned his head against the window and thumbed on his phone, trying hard to take a breath. It was going to be fine. It was going to be fine.

 

One of the texts he had showed it was anything but.

_Emergency alert._ It read. _This is a not a test. Nuclear attack imminent. Seek shelter underground._

 

Fuck.

 

His head was smashed against the window as the driver took a corner too fast. Behind him he could hear sirens, turning the streets behind him into a cacophony of noise and manicism.

 

“Where are we going, mate?” At this point, he had to hold onto the seat to maintain his balance. His seatbelt was doing nothing at all to keep him upright. They’d reached an outer suburb faster than he expected - mostly trees and lanes - and he could see people around the road scrambling to get out of the way of the car through his blurry vision. Probably from the impact with the window, that couldn't be good.  

“Shelter.” The driver grunted. “Underground.”

 

Right.

 

He closed his eyes-

 

And was thrown immediately off balance as a loud, all-encompassing boom shook him to the soul. A bright white light blossomed behind his eyes. The car shook wildly and he heard the grating of metal somewhere very far away. He didn’t dare open his eyes.  

 

“Hold on!” The driver grunted, but he seemed very far away as well. “We’re about to-”

 

Then there was another scream of metal against metal and an odd tipping - like gravity had stopped working or something - and then he _fell._

 

There was silence.


	2. the car

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dan, a car, and a whole lot of chest pain.

Dan woke with blood dripping down his nose and onto the fabric below him. He squinted through the darkness, barely managing to make out the shape of seats and -

 

Hang on a minute. He was  _ hanging.  _ He shook his head, trying to shake the fog out of his brain. It didn’t seem to work.

 

There was a tightness around his chest and hips. He put a hand to his head and it came away red. Wait. If he was hanging he could…

 

He released his seatbelt and fell a metre straight down onto the seats below him. The car groaned beneath him and shook violently. It was like it was  _ suspended,  _ or something, with the bonnet facing down an incline and the boot at the top. The partition between the back and the front of the car had smashed in the crash. 

 

Lights. He needed lights. 

 

His phone would do, if he could find it. Gravity. Down. It should be… He scrabbled around the seats below him, perched awkwardly on the back of the driver’s seat. Wait. There. He felt the back of the case, recognisable by the unique shape of the case armour that Nick had gotten him for Christmas, and pulled it from its hidey-hole.

 

He’d refused to use it at first, because it had really ruined the  _ aesthetic _ , but he couldn’t have been more thankful for it then.

 

Swiping the phone open, he found the flashlight icon, pressed it on and  _ holy shit. _

 

Less than a metre from him was the body of the driver, neck twisted at an unnatural angle and with blood coating his entire chest. 

 

Dan pushed as far back against the opposite wall of the car as he could, metal clanging below him, and tried not to throw up. “Jesus fucking christ.” He breathed. He needed to get out of here.

 

It was 5.03pm and he was down to 54% battery. He needed to get out of the car. He wasn’t going to spend all night in the middle of nowhere in a car accident. 

 

Think, Dan, think. 

 

He couldn’t help but hark back to the Walking Dead. Even in times of crisis, something from that show stood out to him. Food. Water. Shelter. Weapons. 

 

(He wasn’t sure about the last one.) 

 

Potential nuclear apocalypses be damned, he was alive. He was not going to die in a hole in the ground. He could already feel the talons of winter creeping in through the gaps around the windows, and his horn hoodie wasn’t going to do much to stop a cold English winter evening.

 

Food. Water. Shelter. 

 

Was there anything in the taxi?

 

Dan leaned down towards the glove box, not liking the way the car creaked around him as he did. Opening it, the first thing he found was a driver’s license. He squinted at the name, not wanting to turn on his phone again. It was getting dark, but he could manage for now.

 

_ Karam Anagal.  _ Poor guy. He tucked the license away in his bag for later contemplation. If he could find the man’s family…

 

No. No good to think about it now. He needed to get out of the car.

 

Tissues. A couple of muesli bars. A cigarette lighter and some empty plastic bags. 

 

He took everything, wanting to be prepared. A quick glance in his bag told him that he had his wallet, a scarf and gloves, half a bottle of water, his phone charger, a couple of pens and some lip balm. It could be worse. It could be way worse. 

 

Okay. Time to get out of the car. 

 

The door on the left was jammed from the outside, but the door on the right opened well enough and he was just able to scramble out of the car and onto a steep slope. It was damp outside, the grass wet with dew, and it took him a while to scramble up the bank and onto flat land, especially as his head was still bleeding.

 

His vision kept on fading in and out at the corners, but he wasn’t going to think about that.

 

Not now. 

  
  


Standing out on the road, Dan suddenly became aware of how quiet it was. From what he could see, there were very few lights on in the scattered streets around him - he was quite far out of the city at this point - and everything was so  _ silent.  _

 

The only sounds he could hear were from behind him - back towards London - and they were just… faint screams. No. He wasn’t going to think about that. He didn’t have time.

 

He sat down on the side of the road, head suddenly feeling very light. It was cold out on the street, but he needed to do something about the ‘bleeding head’ thing. 

 

The scarf. The scarf would do. He fished it out of his bag, looked at it mournfully for a second, and then tied it tightly around his head, right where it hurt the most. Hopefully it would do. 

 

Now. Where to go from here? He wasn’t going to head back towards London. There wasn’t much that was logical in his memories from before the crash - everything seemed a bit jarring and faint - but he was  _ sure  _ there had been something loud. Something unnaturally loud.

 

He didn’t know for certain, because how the hell would he, but he figured it was a nuclear bomb going off.

 

Yeah, London was pretty much off limits. 

 

North it was, then. He didn’t quite know where he was, and consulting his phone (battery down to 52%) didn’t help because he couldn’t seem to get a signal. Whether that was because of the blast - god forbid - or because he was in the middle of absolutely nowhere, it didn’t seem to matter. 

 

He figured that if he walked in a straight line - kept London to the back of him - he’d find his way out of this mess. Hopefully.

 

He wasn’t going to think about how he couldn’t contact his family. They didn’t live in the middle of the city and hopefully,  _ hopefully,  _ they had managed to escape the worst of it. 

 

He wasn’t going to think about Nick. 

 

Switching his phone off, he put his gloves on, took a swig of water, and started walking.

  
  


It didn’t take Dan long to come to a small hamlet, although every step seemed to radiate pain from his ribs to the center of his soul.  _ Hobbs Cross… Hobbs Cross. _ No, he didn’t know it, but the street map in the centre of the village did. In the waning light, he could hardly see the thing, but he just managed to squint at it.

 

Thankfully it was a light night out. The moon hung above him, full and bright, and gave him just enough light to see by.

 

_ Hobbs Cross… _ He was  _ miles  _ from Reading. It would take him days to get to his family if he walked.

 

The silence was concerning. Post a nuclear strike and no-one was running around? It was weird. Confusing. It made him nervous.

 

He finally sunk to his knees at a small section of open ground at the other end of the village. He’d seen no-one, he’d heard no-one, he’d even knocked on a few doors and received no reply. What was going on?  _ Where  _ was the rest of the village?

 

It was then that he took another look at his phone.  _ 8.41pm. Wednesday, January 17th.  _

 

He’d lost two days. He’d lost two  _ fucking  _ days. How had he lost two days hanging in the wreck of a car? More to the point, how had his phone survived two days in a car without dying completely?

 

It was no surprise everyone was gone. They’d probably all left in a rush days ago. 

 

And he had been left behind.  _ Damn.  _ He supposed that in the madness, no-one had thought to look for a lowly BBC presenter.

Well, there was nothing for it. He’d have to make it on his own.

 

He struggled to his feet, ribs protesting - maybe he’d broken something? - and walked towards the closest house. A quick look through the windows and a knock on the door seemed to cement it. 

 

It was completely empty. It would do. He could sleep the night inside, away from the cold, and figure out what he would do in the morning.

 

It was  _ fine.  _ It would all be fine.

  
  


The door on his chosen house was unlocked. 

 

He tried the lights. No luck. 

 

It was a small flat - a living room, kitchen and bathroom downstairs, with a large bedroom upstairs. When he ransacked the kitchen he found several tins, a fridge full of rotting food, and several boxes of cereal. The water still worked.

 

In all, it could be worse.

 

He dragged himself upstairs, head throbbing and ribs aching as he did, and collapsed onto the double bed. Kicking off his shoes, he only just managed to dump his shoulder bag on the floor, switch his phone off and get under the covers before he fell asleep. 

 

It would all be better in the morning. It  _ had  _ to be.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> coming next week
> 
> ACTUAL OTHER PEOPLE  
> CHARACTERS!   
> THE FUCK?


	3. the strangers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for mild gore

Waking up was a bad idea.

 

Everything in his chest hurt, and shifting around even slightly sent a bolt of pain up his neck and into his head.

But he was starving. And he couldn’t just spend the day sitting in bed. There was nothing to it.

 

Dan would have to get up.

 

He rolled to the side of the bed and just managed to drag himself to his feet. Going downstairs was another world of fire and pain sparking in his nerve endings, but after several minutes he managed to make it downstairs and to the bathroom.

 

In the daylight he could see how bad his injuries were, and he looked  _ terrible. _

 

He had a black eye, and dried blood caked all over the left side of his face as well as plenty of other cuts around the exposed parts of his body.. When he lifted his hoodie up, he was prepared for the worst.

The thick patches of bruising all over his torso weren’t a good sign.

 

Okay. So, he was a little bit banged up. But it’d heal. In time. He wasn’t going to get bogged down in sadness. He didn’t have time for that.

 

The shower worked and he managed to wash the blood off. Thank goodness for small miracles. He wondered how long the water would last. It wouldn’t do to waste it all. 

He managed to find some clothing that he could fit upstairs in the bedroom. It looked like the occupant of the house had been a man about his height, so he took some items that fitted him. If he was going to walk to Reading - or to somewhere where he could find people - he’d need hardier clothes.

 

It was midafternoon when he finally heard people. He’d been in the middle of a tuna sandwich - not ideal, but at least he wasn’t dead - when he heard yelling out from the road.

His heart lept. He wasn’t alone out there. 

 

It took everything he had not to sob in relief.

 

He ran out towards the road, ignoring how much the pain tore at his chest as he did and yelled, “Hey! Please! Someone!”

He sank to his knees in the little park where he had fallen yesterday night - not able to run any further. The events of the last few days had really taken it out of him.

 

“Hey, hey, look!” He heard someone, a male voice, say. 

He looked up and found himself staring into a pair of bright blue eyes.

_ Oh my god. _

  
  


“What happened?” Dan asked.

 

The two strangers barely paused in their ransacking of ‘his’ kitchen. (It was hardly his, but it was all he had right now.)

 

“Someone tell me. Please.”

 

“Do you mean you don’t know?” The man eyed him. He had black hair, bright blue eyes and was about as tall as Dan himself. He was pretty, too, but Dan was a smart young man and wasn’t going to let his attractiveness dictate his impression of him. “How can you  _ not  _ know?”

He didn’t feel comfortable getting into it. “I was in a car crash. Got lost in the middle of nowhere - missed everything. I… uh… didn’t get your name?”

“It’s P-” The man began, but his companion elbowed him in the ribs and he stopped.

She was shorter, redhaired and fierce-looking. She hadn’t smiled once since he’d met the pair. 

“Never mind.” The man continued. “Look, the world ended. I think that’s all you need to know.” 

“That’s really not good enough.” Dan replied. “Give me a break, here. I’ve missed everything. I’d like to know what’s going on.” Why were the strangers being so circumspect? It wasn’t like information was withheld, or anything, was it?

 

The man opened his mouth to speak again, but the woman elbowed him.

 

She stepped forward, a curious look in her eyes. “You work on the radio, don’t you?”

“...uh… I do?” 

She clicked her fingers and glared at her companion. “I  _ knew  _ I recognised him. Dan Howell? From the afternoon show on the BBC. He did that thing with One Direction a couple of years back.” 

“I did…” Dan replied, very confused to how this all mattered. One Direction had been fine. They were nice lads and he had been a little bit smitten, but the interview had been fairly pointless in the scheme of things. 

“Oh, I remember.” The man said, very clearly not remembering. 

“Well, you know what this means.” The redhead grinned. It wasn’t a very nice grin. It reminded Dan of a shark.

 

“W-what does it mean?” Dan asked. Something inside him was telling him that something was seriously wrong with the pair, but it wasn’t like he could run away.

“Oh. Yeah…” The man mused. “It’s very nice to meet you, Dan, but you need to come with us.”

“What? Why?” Dan moved to stand up, but the looks on the faces of the others kept him in his seat.

The man picked up a knife from the kitchen bench. “Tell you what, why don’t you just come with us? Instead of asking so many questions?”

 

Oh. He was being  _ threatened.  _ That was what was happening. 

Fuck, he really hoped these people weren’t cannibals. He thought quickly. “Yeah. Yeah. I’ll come with you. No problem. No problem at all. Can I bring my bag?”

 

“Yeah.” The woman said. “Where is it?”

 

“Upstairs.” 

 

She pushed her companion with one hand. “Go with him. Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.” 

 

Dammit. He could have slipped out of the upstairs window, but now… He’d just have to go along with them. They weren’t trying to hurt him at the moment so he hoped he could get away when they weren’t looking or something. 

Fuck. He didn’t know what to do. “I’ll… just go and get that now then.” 

 

The man followed him upstairs, knife still drawn. Dan couldn’t take them both on, especially with his ribs (he was beginning to suspect that they were broken) and his utter lack of fight training. He wasn’t even sure that he could take on one of them.

No. For now he was just going to go along with what they said.

 

Walking up the stairs hurt, but he wasn’t going to show it. He didn’t need to give the pair anything else they could hold over him. He didn’t know why the pair needed him, but it couldn’t be for anything good.

He’d packed his bag earlier, thankfully, so all he needed to do was pick it up and hang it over his shoulders. The movement hurt and the other man must have noticed his wince, because he jabbed Dan in the chest with the butt of the knife and said, “What’s going on there?”

Okay. That hurt. A lot. “Bruises.” He grunted, trying not to show  _ how much  _ it hurt on his face.

“Show me.” The man replied. It wasn’t a question.

“Fine.” With some effort, he lifted his shirt up to show the thick lines of bruises all over his torso. It felt uncomfortable doing it in front of the man, but it wasn’t like he had any other choice.

The man raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got some broken ribs there.”

“Yeah, I thought so.” He dropped his shirt back down and smoothed his hands over it, nervously. “Are we going?”

 

The man took a step closer to him. 

 

Too close.

 

The man seemed to study him for a moment. “Look, Dan, I wouldn-”

And then there was a yell from downstairs and his gaze dropped. “Never mind. Come on. We have to move. Gets dark early these days.”

“Yeah.” Dan traipsed downstairs, every footstep sending a bolt of pain up through his torso. 

  
  


They left Hobbs Cross to the north. Dan had sketched out a rough version of the city map onto a piece of paper, and also taken a photo with his phone (down to 49%), and he knew that they were going roughly in the right direction if he wanted to get back to his parents’ place. 

It didn’t take them long to walk up the hill and find themselves above the M25. Even though the walk didn’t take much longer than 10 minutes, Dan found himself lagging behind, only managing to keep up with the pair because of the man’s firm grip on his sleeve.

They didn’t want to lose him and he didn’t know why.

 

He sagged down against the barrier when they hit the motorway bridge. The M25 stretched out below them, travelling as far as he could see in every direction.

And it was totally, heartbreakingly empty. 

 

Yeah, there were some small collections of cars, stuck together in clumps around the edge of the road, as well as litter scattered everywhere, but Dan couldn’t see another person in sight. The road stretched as far as the horizon and he couldn’t see  _ anyone.  _

 

Where had everyone gone?

 

“Don’t look so shocked.” The redhead scoffed. “It’s the end of the world, innit?”

“Yeah, but where did they go?”

“Underground, mainly.” It was the man that answered. “Or as far away from the bombs as they could. Was complete pandemonium at first.”

“Where were the bombs dropped?”

“Shit, you really have no idea, do you?” The redhead sniffed. “You really missed out.”

“ _ Where were they dropped?”  _ Dan gritted his teeth. He was beginning to get rather fed up with the group, even though they had knives on him. He needed to get away. 

“The broadcasts say Farnborough. Croydon. Dartford? They didn’t seem to have a specific target.” The man mused. “Just wanted to hit the city. It’s a shame, really.”

 

Farnborough… that was just below Reading… if the wind had been going the wrong way his famil-

 

No. He wasn’t going to think about it.

 

“What’s going on now?” He asked. It seemed fairly quiet. If this was a nuclear war it didn’t seem quite like the one in films.

“The US, us and our enemies are fighting it out, apparently.” The man continued. “I’ve seen rockets take off from around here. Everything’s manual now. The bombs released an EMP pulse - messed up most electronics.”

That would explain the lights and the lack of cars… but not his phone. Huh. He neglected to mention it. They didn’t need anything that they could hold over him.

“Grim.” He heaved himself off the barrier. “Should we go?”

  
  


The pair led him across the motorway bridge and down parallel to the M11. They ducked under barriers, crossed a small section of trees and grass, and emerged out onto the M11. 

 

They started heading up the M11 - _ away  _ from Hobbs Cross and the M25. Wait. This wasn’t what he wanted. If they went up the M11 they’d be going north, away from his family, his city, and everything he knew. He couldn’t let that happen. “Stop.” 

 

“What, Dan.” The woman asked, but didn’t stop walking.

“No.” He planted his heels, refusing to be dragged along. “I’m not going that way.”

“You’ll go wherever we want you to go.”

“No. I’m going home. I’m not following you to the middle of nowhere. I’m a human being, you can’t just do this.” He knew his pleas were falling on dumb ears but he couldn’t stop. 

“We need you. Are you going to come with us willingly, or do we have to persuade you?” She held her knife towards him - a long, sharp, vicious-looking thing - and glared. 

“No.”

 

It had gone on long enough. Clearly these people wanted him for something bad and he wasn’t going to let them take him. He wasn’t going to go north. “No.” He said again.

And with his final word, he tore his sleeve out of the other man’s grasp, and took off back down the road towards the M25.

 

He knew it was a dumb idea, knew it with every fabric of his being. Dan wasn’t a runner, was generally fairly terrible at it, and knew he wouldn’t make it away from the pair even if he was at full health.

 

But he was going to try, dammit.

 

He wasn’t going to die in a ditch today.

 

Ducking around a clump of cars - he wasn’t going to look at the flies buzzing around or the pool of blood oozing from behind one of the windshields - he sprinted towards the other road, not even knowing what he was going to do when he got there.

 

It hurt. It really _ really  _ hurt.

 

That was, of course, when he tripped over the edge of the motorway and fell straight to the ground, grazing his cheek along the asphalt. Something cracked in his chest, and he was pretty sure if he hadn’t had any broken ribs before, he certainly did now.

 

_ This was why he never ran anywhere. _

 

He turned onto his back, groaning, and could see the pair running up towards him. Guess this was it. Served him right for trying to run away.

 

“Dan…” The woman tsked as she approached him. “You shouldn’t have tried to run.”

“He’s not moving anywhere with those injuries.” The man said, looking over him carefully with a practised eye. “We’d have to carry him.”

“Bloody rich toffs.” The woman swore, and kicked the edge of the asphalt. “Soft bones. No resilience. Guess we’ll have to leave him.”

 

They were going to leave him?

 

“But how will we get in without him?” The man asked, looking to his friend for guidance. 

“We’ll make something up. I’m not carrying his arse all the way to Temple Fields.” She looked at Dan, whose vision was beginning to darken around the edges from the EXTREME PAIN he was under, “Shame though. He was pretty.

_ Was?  _ Was? Dan was still very much around, thank you. He’d properly get indignant, but he just couldn’t find the energy. “Fuck you.” He mumbled, barely able to get the words out.

“You know, honey, I was just going to let you die. But now…?” She knelt down beside him.

 

He tried to squirm away but couldn’t. Any sort of movement sent pain lancing through his entire torso. He couldn’t feel his legs.

 

“Mmmm…” The woman dragged the point of her knife down his right arm. “A bloody death. Fitting.” 

 

Then she stabbed down, and dragged the blade right along the length of his forearm, and it was the worst thing he had ever felt.

 

“Fuck you.” He hissed, through the pain. 

She winked, moved away from him and stood up. “Bye, Dan!” 

 

Her tone was more cheerful than he’d heard all day.

 

She turned away from him, jabbed her partner in the chest and gestured towards the road. They left without a backwards glance.

 

Dan looked up at the sky, feeling blood dripping down the side of his arm, and took a deep breath.

It wasn’t dying in a ditch, but it was certainly close enough.

  
  


The last thing he saw before his vision faded completely to black was those blue,  _ blue  _ eyes, staring down at him. The man had come back? 

 

The thought was too much to bear and he passed out. 


	4. the nurse's office

Consciousness was hard.

 

He caught splinters of the world around him - a hand, sticky with blood - dark hair blocking out the sun - a bar of fluorescent lights and a tiled ceiling - those blue  _ blue  _ eyes -

“Dan. Stay with me!” 

 

But staying was too hard and he let the world fade out to white around him instead.

  
  
  


“Shit!” He shot up in bed, the world reorienting itself around him. A green room. Two beds. Silhouettes of children on the walls and an IV running into his undamaged left arm.

Where the hell was he?

Dan looked around the room wildly. His bag was on the chair about a metre away - if he could just reach it -

 

And he ended up crashing out of bed and onto the floor.

 

“Fuck.” He giggled, eyes filling with tears.  _ Fuck.  _ Everything ached. He didn’t know why he was laughing. The situation just seemed so ridiculous. Surviving maniacs with knives, and he was finding his demise on the floor of a school nurse’s office. He didn’t know how he could fail much harder at this point.

 

That was, of course, when someone came running into the room to see him in his pool of misery on the floor. “Dan!”

He looked up and instinctively recoiled back in horror. It was the blue-eyed man, coming to - No. Wait. It wasn’t. There were subtle differences between them and he’d sounded Northern- “You don’t have a Welsh twin, do you?”

“What? No? I mean, I don’t think so.” The man knelt down in front of him. “My parents have been keeping a pretty big secret if I do.”

“Okay.” Dan slumped back against the bed and held up a weak thumbs-up to the new man. A tear managed to escape and rolled down his cheek. Damn. “Good to know.”

 

“Can you stand up for me?” The other man held out his hands, like he was trying to placate a wild animal. “I’d lift you, but I think we’re about the same size and Louise told me off the other day for straining my back-”

“Wait.” Dan interrupted him. Louise? What? Who was this guy? His head hurt. “What’s your name?”

“Phil.” The man grinned. “Hey.”

“Hi. I’m Dan.” 

“I know.” Phil offered him a hand. “Can you stand up for me?”

“I- uh- yeah? I hope?” Dan grasped his hand with his left and Phil looped an arm around him to hold him steady. The touch was warm and comforting and it was the best thing he’d felt in days.

 

With some grunting and struggling they managed to get him to his feet. Ow. Ribs. Ow. 

 

“Where am I?” Dan asked, “And what’s going on? What happened to me?”

“Wow. Questions.” Phil still hadn’t let go yet. “Yeah. We found you on the road. Blood everywhere.” 

 

He set Dan down on the edge of his bed and sat down in the chair opposite, wrinkling his nose. “It wasn’t very nice. You didn’t look so great, so we brought you back here. Our resident doctor managed to fix you up.”

 

Oh. 

 

He looked at the man for a moment, trying to notice the subtle differences between him and the man on the street. Phil’s hair was straighter - hell, he basically had the emo fringe of a myspace kid - and he was slightly paler. Plus, wasn’t trying to murder him. That was always nice. 

 

“So…” He tried to feign confidence, even though he was feeling pretty damn hysterical inside. “What’s my condition like? Am I going to die?”

“Don’t be melodramatic.” Phil looked up at him and sighed. “In all honesty, it’s good to see that you’re awake. It’s been a few days -”

“A FEW DAYS?”

“We found you Wednesday. It’s Sunday.” 

 

He’d lost another four days? He still didn’t quite know what was going on and he’d lost another four days? His family could be - Nick could be -

 

No. 

 

Unbidden, another tear rolled down his cheek. Fuck. He needed to keep it together. It wasn’t the whole ‘masculine thing’ of crying in front of another man. He knew that if he started crying, he wasn’t going to be able to stop. 

 

He wiped the tears away and stared down at his lap. He was falling apart.

 

“Dan?”

“Yeah?” He looked to Phil, who was shifting in his seat, looking rather uncomfortable about something.

“Can I hug you? I know we barely know each other and you’ve woken up after the longest sleep in the world, but I don’t want to just sit here and watch you cry.”

“Yeah. Uh, y-yeah.” Dan stammered. “Of course. You saved my life.”

“Great.” Phil bounded out of his seat, like an over-excited labrador, and wrapped his arms around him. 

 

Dan gripped onto his back and held on, trying hard to find stability in a world that was trying to throw him off at every opportunity. He pressed his head into Phil’s shoulder and sighed.

 

Phil, to his everlasting credit, didn’t flinch away from the tears soaking into his shirt.


	5. the breakfast

Once he’d recovered, Phil helped him into a soft pair of jogging bottoms and a comfortable green hoodie with York printed on the front.

“This yours?” Dan gestured at the hoodie.

“Yeah.” Phil had the decency to look a tad embarrassed.

“You studied at York?”

“Yep. A while ago, now.”

 

He was pretty sure Phil was a bit older than him, so he asked.

 

“I’m 31 in nine days.” He said, with a rueful smile. “I didn’t imagine I’d be celebrating it in the middle of a nuclear war, but there we go.”

“Times have changed.”

“Yeah. Yeah, they have.”

  
  


Phil helped him limp out of the room and took him down a long corridor. It appeared that his first guess was right - they were definitely in a school. 

 

“You have three broken ribs.” Phil explained, “Far too many cuts to count, a long slash down your arm that we had to sew up and a head wound. Everything seems to be healing nicely though it was a bit touch and go at the beginning there.” 

“So I’m falling apart, basically.”

“Don’t be so dramatic. You’re fine.”

 

The corridor was long and they passed by a classroom with a whole bunch of what looked like  _ camera equipment  _ stacked in it? Yeah, Dan had moonlighted as a runner with a film crew before he’d got his BBC job, and a lot of the stuff was familiar.

“What’s all that?” He indicated with his head at the room.

“I’m a camera operator.” Phil explained. “We were just down the road when everything happened. Epping was chaos, this place was empty and has a fence that’s hard to climb. Self-explanatory, really.”

 

There was clearly more of a story there, but Dan didn’t think it was right to pry after all that Phil had done for him. “Makes sense.”

“Yep.” Phil brushed a hand along his shoulder casually. “Are you alright? I’m not going too fast, am I?”

 

_ You can go as fast as you like,  _ Dan thought, and  _ immediately  _ pushed that idea away. “N-no. No. You’re fine.”

“Good.” Phil’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes but it was getting there. “I’m taking you to see the rest of my crew, now. They’ll be happy to see that you’re up and kicking.”

“Kicking might be a bit of an exaggeration but I’ll take your word for it.”

  
  
  


They emerged out into a cafeteria, which had eight tables and a serving station in one corner. Sitting around the table in the corner were five people, who appeared to be in the middle of eating breakfast.

 

“I hope they don’t hate me.” Dan whispered, just loud enough for Phil to hear. Meeting new people was a Thing, and he wasn’t very good at it.

“They’ll love you. Honestly. A BBC presenter who  _ isn’t  _ conceited? It’s a breath of fresh air.”

 

“Wait.” Dan stopped him. “You know that I work at the BBC?” That worried him. The other people had  _ liked  _ that he worked at the BBC, had found it important. While these people had fixed him up and kept him alive, he didn’t like it that they knew about his occupation.

“You had a BBC swipe card in your wallet and I’ve heard you on the radio before.” Phil said fondly, “Was quite a fan too, until you told us that the world was ending.”

 

Okay. He could deal with that, but if they started getting extra friendly, he was out of here. 

 

“Calm down.” Phil said. “Come and sit down. I bet you’re starving.”

 

Surprisingly enough, Dan found that he  _ was.  _

  
  


Sprout Productions was their crew’s name and they made high quality video around the Greater London area. At least, that was the sale’s pitch that Dan started to get before someone else nudged the man that was speaking and said, “give it up, Stu.”

 

Dan supposed it was the man’s way of coping.

 

“Right.” Phil fetched him a bowl of cereal, without him asking, which was nice. “The guy who was trying to sell you the ruins of our company is Stu-”

“Stuart.” The man, who was dressed in a t-shirt and suit jacket. “Hi Dan. Good to see you awake.” He had a heavy Norfolk accent.

“Stu.” Phil continued, “Next to him is Dan Tomlinson, our editor.”

 

The other Dan grasped his hand. He was dressed in a thick brown cardigan, had round glasses and a shock of beautiful black hair. “Hello.”

And his  _ voice.  _ People often told Dan that he was articulate, but this Dan? Even in one single word, he’d spoken better than Dan had in his entire life.

Dan swallowed thickly. “Uh…um. Hi. Hi Dan. Nice to meet you.”

Dan T smiled and patted Dan’s hand before letting it go.

 

Phil took a seat beside him (between him and Stu) and continued the introductions. “To  _ his  _ left is Dodie. Soundie extraordinaire.” 

“You’re too nice, Phil.” Dodie had a lovely face, and he was sure that if they weren’t suffering through the end of the world as they knew it, she’d probably be quite smiley too. “Hey!”

“And then finally, Louise and PJ. Medic/Runner/1st-AD/general great person, and our DOP, respectively.”

“Gosh, you really didn’t skimp on my introduction, did you?” PJ said, dryly. “Hey, Dan. What’s up?”

 

Dan gave him a weak thumbs-up and a smile, suddenly very overwhelmed. It was probably rather unsurprising, considering the week he’d had. PJ was beautiful too, with dark hair and eyes. Honestly, was this all this company did? 

 

And finally, Louise. 

“Honestly, I can’t thank you enough.” Dan said, hoping how grateful he felt was coming out in his voice. “I really like not being dead.”

She smiled and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, squeezing gently. “I’m very glad you’re not dead too.”

 

He liked her immediately. 

 

“Is it your policy to just hire beautiful people or something?” Dan asked Stu, wincing internally as the joke fell a bit flat. 

“Dan’s had head trauma.” Louise squeezed his shoulder one more time and let go. “Don’t take anything he says as fact.”

 

Clearly she was teasing.

 

“Rude.” Phil said, beside him, tucking into a bowl of lurid-coloured cereal. “PJ tries to be beautiful at all times.” 

 

Kids’ school.  _ Of course. _ Explained the cereal, at least.

 

“Well, I do try.” PJ said, modestly, fanning himself like a 50s starlet. “But the end of all civilisation does make that a little hard.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, here is an intro of all the dramatis personae if you don't know who they are!
> 
> y'all know d&p, otherwise why are you here?
> 
> stu (ashens) on [ youtube ](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCxt9Pvye-9x_AIcb1UtmF1Q)  
> dan tomlinson (lousypandah) on [ youtube ](https://www.youtube.com/user/lousypandah) or you'd probs get a better look at his actual face from the end of [ this video ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z0KndzOOv-0)  
> louise (sprinkleofglitter) on [ youtube ](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCfAEEhKikW1676DCa_0OWLA)  
> dodie (doddleoddle) on [ youtube ](https://www.youtube.com/user/doddleoddle)


	6. the tour

 

After breakfast, Phil took him on a tour of the place.

 

“That’s the sleeping area.” He pointed into a classroom where several air mattresses were set up on the floor. “Stu claimed the other proper mattress - you know, from the nurse’s room - because he’s a bit older than us and he has a bad back. Don’t tell him I said that.”

 Dan laughed. “I won’t.”

“We could move your mattress in with us, if you like.” Phil said, offhandedly, “I mean, if you want to.”

“I do. Sleeping alone in a doctor’s office with the ghosts of dead children hanging over me? No thanks.” Dan shivered. “Creepy.”

“I really doubt anyone died in there.”

“What, are you a ghost expert now?”

“Yeah, it’s unboolievable.” Phil said, and winked.

“I’ve known you for less than two hours and you are already the worst person I know.” Dan eyed him, fairly sure Phil knew it was a joke.

“I try.”

  


Phil showed him a garden - “I like plants, but it’s really too cold for much to grow at the moment,” - a classroom full of computers - “They don’t work, even with the generator we rigged. Stu thinks the blast fried them,” - and a teacher’s lounge complete with coffee maker (which didn’t work) and showers.

“We have a generator and hot water.” Phil said, “Ish. It’s far from reliable, so don’t use too much water.”

“Wait.” Dan stopped him with a hand on his wrist, “You’re letting me stay?”

“Of course.” Phil replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “We dragged you from the brink of death - do you really think we’re going to let you out there again?”

 

He sounded like he was only half joking.

 

“Oh.” Dan breathed. “That’s… that’s really nice of you.”

“End of the world, Danny.” Phil shrugged and smiled at him. “It’s up to us to be decent people.”

  
  


Lastly, Phil led him upstairs. It was a slow process, considering Dan was still bruised in places he’d never felt before, but they made it in the end.

Upstairs was one singular room, with a polished wood floor and several windows looking out towards lush green farmland.

 

It was raining, as per usual, but if Dan squinted through the grey he could just see…

“Is that Epping? In the distance?” He looked to the other man for confirmation.

“Yeah.” Phil’s expression didn’t change. “It’s… a mess.”

“How so?”

“I mean, there _was_ a nuclear attack, Dan.”

 

Dan could feel the other man getting agitated. He sighed and limped over a chair at the edge of the room. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. It’s just - I’ve been in and out of unconsciousness for the last six days and I have _no_ idea what’s going on. Could you give me a straight answer? Please?”

“Six days?”

Dan could tell that he wanted to ask more, but he didn’t. “Yeah.”

“You tell me yours, I’ll tell you mine?” Phil pulled another chair over and sat, waiting expectantly.

“Yeah, I suppose.”

 

So, he told Phil everything. The other man made the appropriate noises of response, and seemed genuinely shaken up when he had finished.

 

“You’ve had quite the six days.” Phil said, quietly. He’d inched forward in his chair when Dan had been speaking and seemed oddly _regretful_ about the whole matter _._ “I’ll try and fill in the gaps.”

 

Phil’s story was a long and upsetting one, and it went something like this.

  


Sprout Productions had been shooting a documentary show on a nearby farm at the start of the week. It had been a run of the mill animal piece, which Phil said, “...was boring, but it paid the bills. At least I got to pat a lot of dogs.”

They’d knocked off for lunch at one pm, and it had been just after then that they’d heard Dan’s news and received their emergency texts.

Of course, they had been scared - because who hadn’t been - and they’d gotten in their cars to leave the farm after packing their gear, but then the blasts had hit.

They’d been far enough away to see the devastation from a distance, but they’d still been hit with some sort of EMP wave - which stopped their cars (barring one) and all of their tech. Confronted with a wild Epping, and complete carnage going down on all of the motorways, they were lucky enough to find the school to hide in until it had all calmed down.

“It was completely empty.” Phil explained, with a wistful smile, “so we spent a good hour or so ferrying our gear from our location back here. Most of it doesn’t even _work_ any more - but you know filmmakers, they’re very… protective.”

 

Explained the gear, at least.

 

Originally, they were just going to stay in the school until things _calmed down,_ but they hadn’t. With only one working car, most of the roads around the area blocked and very little petrol, they just ended up _staying,_ hunkered around the radio, trying to get news where they could _._

“And you’re _fine_ with this?” Dan asked him, incredulously. He’d been wanting to get home ever since he’d woken up and the film crew was just content to stay in one place?

“Most of us don’t have much in the way of family. This job doesn’t lead to many friends.” Phil still had that wistful smile. He continued, “and my family’s on holiday in New Zealand. They’re out of harm’s way. There’s not much more I can do. Just have to hope."

“But I-”

“We’ve been told to stay inside, don’t go wandering, and the army will give us more instructions when they know.”

“But-”

“ _Dan.”_ Phil stopped him again. “We’re at _war._ I know you want to get back to your family… but there’s people still trying to bomb us. At least if we’re in the middle of nowhere, no-one’s trying to attack us."

“That’s a naive way to think.”

“How so?”

“Would you rather while away your existence in a tiny school in the middle of nowhere, or actually live? We could die any day. Why the fuck not?” Dan really didn’t want to start a fight with the people who had saved his life, but he couldn’t believe their inaction. He couldn’t just sit still without knowing what happened.

 

“Of course, actual living is definitely not what got you stabbed the other day.” Phil replied, looking vaguely amused about the whole thing.

 

Dan huffed, fiddling with his hands. “I just don’t understand how you’re so fine with all of this.”

“Dan,” Phil reached out and gave his uninjured hand a squeeze, “I spent the first three days of the week crying around a transistor radio with my workmates. Sometimes we have to focus on the only good things that life gives us.”

 

He supposed he couldn’t argue with that.


	7. normalacy

_ Monday _

 

Dan wasn’t very good at the whole ‘apocalypse’ thing.

 

He’d been helping out around the school, doing everything that he could manage without tearing his stitches.

Phil, Dodie and the other Dan were trying their best to sort out a garden. They were planting peas, beans and carrots in a makeshift greenhouse on one of the balconies. Dan did his best to help until he caught one of his bandages on the edge of a table and went crashing to the floor, knocking over several pots.

 

Seemed like his sense of balance had gone tits-up since the world ended. 

 

He left to help the others very soon after that. 

 

Stu and PJ were going from room to room, collecting as many useful things as possible, and Dan decided to join them. The school wasn’t  _ huge,  _ but there were a lot of usable things in it, and over the course of a few hours they were able to find another huge collection of tinned food (as well as some off perishables), more blankets and cushions, a furnace, and a whole ton of tools from a janitor’s shed out the back of the premises.

Then they had the absolute joy of moving all of the things they’d found back to their respective places around the main rooms. 

 

It was just before one pm when Dan heaved a box of apples up onto a table with one hand and felt an odd  _ tearing  _ along his right side. He huffed in pain, steadied himself, and managed to stand up straight without wavering. 

 

Stu and PJ were staring at him.

 

“What?”

“Dan, mate, you’re bleeding.” Stu replied, and gestured towards his chest. 

 

He looked down and saw dark red blood seeping through his shirt. Fuck.

 

PJ just managed to catch him before he hit the floor, and helped him walk dazedly back to the nurse’s office.

 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you just wanted to be caught in my arms.” PJ teased. He was a constant presence by Dan’s side, not touching, just being there.

“End of the world, even the impossible could happen.” Dan replied, holding a hand tightly over the oozing wound on his chest. 

“Cheeky.” PJ said. “Still not dead?”

“I mean, barely.” He had lost a  _ fair  _ amount of blood. “Despite my ever-present nihilism, I would actually prefer not dying in the next five minutes.”

“Good plan.” PJ replied, and helped him walk even faster to Louise’s little room.

  
  


She sighed when she saw him. “Do I even need to ask how this happened?”

“Probably not.” Dan replied, suddenly feeling very spinny. The room swam around him. 

“Alright, lie down, shirt off, and I’ll sew it all up again.”

  
  


Sewing him up  _ hurt.  _ Louise didn’t have much in the way of anesthetic, and she said she was saving it until ‘absolutely necessary’, so he just gritted his teeth and had to bear it.

‘Bearing it’ left him sweaty, swearing, and more than a little teary-eyed.

The apocalypse  _ sucked. _

  
  


His shirt was ruined, and it wasn’t even his shirt anyway. He’d found some clothes in the abandoned house, so he’d been wearing those, but he couldn’t stand wearing anything tight over the bandages on his chest, so he hunted around the room until he found Phil’s York hoodie. 

 

“Sorry, Phil.” He muttered, and started the painful process of trying to get the damn thing over his head.

“Sorry for what?”

 

Dan turned, and saw Phil standing in the doorway. 

The older man’s eyes widened at the sight of the thick clumps of bruises peppered about Dan’s torso. “Do those hurt?”   


_ Do those hurt… Come on.  _ He teased, “tell me, Phillip, do really you think that being a walking bruise hurts?”

“Ah yeah, good point.” Phil had the decency to look a bit embarrassed. “Are you okay now?”

“Well, aside from the bits of string holding most of my chest together, I’m fine.” Dan drawled, ignoring how uncomfortable Phil’s unwavering glance on his face made him feel. “Give me a hand, yeah?”

 

Phil stepped over to him and helped him gingerly put the hoodie on. 

 

It really hurt to lift his arms above his head, and it made him realise that he probably shouldn’t have done so much lifting earlier in the day. Louise had furiously rebuked him for tearing his stitches while she was sewing him up, and he didn’t want to be on the end of that kind of thing ever again. 

That woman could  _ wield  _ a needle.

 

“Tell you what.” Phil said, once the hoodie was finally on. “I’m done planting for now. Want to get lunch and just sit somewhere?”

“Can we. Please. That’d be great.” Dan replied, more grateful than he’d ever been in his life. While he  _ liked  _ the others, he was really getting to the point where he just need to sit, mull things over, and decide what his next move was going to be. 

Because he knew, despite the kindness of these people and everything they’d done for him, he couldn’t stay. 


	8. Chapter 8

It wasn’t because of the company. Everyone had been amazing.

 

Dan just had to  _ know.  _ Perhaps the rest of them were content to stick around and wait for something to happen, but he couldn’t. What about his parents? His brother?

 

It was rather out of character for him, but he couldn’t just let things lie.

He had to know.

  
  


It took him a couple of days to work up the courage. He didn’t want to offend them, they’d all been so kind and had literally saved his life, but…

He also didn’t want to leave.

 

He knew he couldn’t stay, but the outside world was far scarier than anything he’d ever seen on Netflix. Cloverfield had nothing on this shit, giant monsters be damned.

 

And he didn’t really want to leave Phil. 

 

They’d only known each other for a few days, but they’d  _ clicked.  _ They had similar interests - although Phil was a little… strange… at times, and he had an oddly calming presence. Leaving the school… it’d be like leaving a friend.

 

But he had to.

  
  


He announced his decision at breakfast the next morning.

Predictably, they weren’t happy. 

He’d only known them for a couple of days, but they were willing to fight tooth and nail for him to stay.

 

It was sweet.

But he couldn’t. 

 

It had nearly devolved into a full-blown argument until Phil had piped up as well and said, “Well, if you’re going, I’m coming with you.”

 

That  _ had  _ caused an argument, but Phil had stayed firm. He’d rebuked everyone’s questions and complaints gently, but firmly, and he hadn’t backed down. 

 

No-one else was happy about it, but they couldn’t stop him. 

 

It was… oddly nice.

  
  


Later, Dan was packing his pack. They’d found a stock of them in one of the storage rooms in the school - the kids probably went hiking or something - and he needed something to carry all of his things in. He’d already been in a bad situation, he wasn’t going to be caught unprepared again.

Actively trying to survive was a new feeling for him. 

 

Phil wandered in a little later, just as he was tying a torch onto the outside of the pack. Was he ready? He didn’t know.

 

“You look ready.” He remarked, and tugged at one of the knots on top of the bag. “Have you done this before?"

“I’ve never walked my way across the country during the end of the world before, so no, Philly.” 

Phil wrinkled his nose at him disparagingly. “You know what I mean.”

“No. I haven’t.” He’d been on a Scout camp when he was a kid, but somehow he didn’t think that that counted. “...what if I didn’t want you to tag along with me?”

 

He was only half joking. For all he knew, he would be walking into a trap. While he appreciated Phil standing up for him, he didn’t really want to put anyone else at risk.

 

“I mean, I won’t come if you don’t want me to.” Phil said softly, and placed his hand on Dan’s arm. “It’s just… you spent three days alone and you nearly died twice. I’d like to stop that from happening if I can.”

Dan swallowed, feeling like he should have said something, anything, but not being able to find the words. It was too nice. Phil was too nice. “You nearly impaled yourself on a trowel yesterday, mate, I might have to be the one rescuing you.” 

The joke fell flat in the tense air, but Phil smiled gently anyway. “Keep telling yourself that, Danny.”

 

They spoke no more about it, but the feeling of Phil’s hand on his arm, so supportive and kind without judgment, stuck with Dan until they were ready to head off.

 


	9. Chapter 9

It was a tearful goodbye, because none of them knew if they’d ever see each other again.

Everyone cried - even Dan. The group had been so nice to him over the few days that he had been with them.

In another life, maybe they all would have been proper friends.

 

Louise pressed a large pack of dressings, antiseptic cream and bandages into his hands just before they left. “Take it.” She said, earnestly, “Replace your dressings once a day. At least.” 

 

“Won’t you need them?”

 

She smiled, gently. “Dan, I have the luxury of being with a group in a relatively safe place. If we need more things, we can go and scavenge them. You two don’t have it as easy.”

 

Instead of replying, he just hugged her. The gift meant  _ a lot.  _ “Thank you. Thank you so, so much.” What he couldn’t quite say was how thankful he was for  _ everything  _ she’d done for him. She’d kept him alive. 

 

Stu gave him a map that had a thick sharpie line running along the roads all the way from Epping to Reading. “It might not be the fastest way, but it’s probably fairly close. Don’t go into the big cities, don’t travel at night. Alright?”

 

“How do you know?” He asked.

 

“I got a doctorate in knowing about people. Just trust me.” Stu replied, then patted him on the shoulder, roughly. “Stay safe.”

 

From the other Dan and Dodie, he got an assortment of dry sweets. PJ drew a kangaroo with glasses and a quiff on his backpack and said, “That’s copyrighted in my name. If you sell it when the apocalypse is over I’m suing your arse, Howell.” 

 

“No promises, PJ.”

 

What was unspoken between them was that neither of them knew if the apocalypse was ever going to  _ be  _ over.

 

“I like you.” PJ hugged him, roughly. “Don’t die.” 

 

“I will try very hard not to.”

  
  


They walked out of the school’s gate at 8.30 in the morning, which was earlier than Dan ever used to get up. Their packs were laden with dry goods, water purification tablets (another  _ amazing  _ find at the school), extra clothes and wound dressings. Dan still had his phone - which was still holding a charge, though only barely. 

The bags weighed a ton.

It wasn’t long before Dan was really beginning to feel it in his neck and his shoulders. He’d been regretting his mostly-sedentary lifestyle for a few days, and it was actually beginning to hurt him.

 

“I’m suddenly regretting spending my entire life inside.” Dan moaned, after about half an hour of walking. They’d come out onto a quiet suburban street, littered with posh little houses. “Is everything supposed to hurt this much?”

 

“We can take a break if you like.” Phil offered. “Since you are technically still an invalid and all.”

 

“No.” Dan said. “No. I’ll deal with it.” Taking a break after such a short time seemed  _ weak.  _ He’d not subscribed to the traditional version of masculinity for years, but giving up would just be wrong. He could deal with it.

 

They wandered along country roads for an hour or so. They didn’t really talk, more concerned with trying to get to their destination without alerting bad people to their presence in the area. 

It was worrying how fast they’d learned to distrust others.

  
  


The map lead them off the back country roads soon enough, and once they hopped a fence, they were back on the M25. It was supposed to lead them through a tunnel, but Dan took one look at the utter pitch blackness inside and said, “Nope. None of that Silent Hill shit. We’ll go around.”

It was about midday - at least, that’s what it seemed like, considering neither of them actually had watches told tell the time, when they reached a place called Gunpowder Park. It was on the outskirts of Waltham Abbey - a small town - and it seemed as good a place to stop as anything.

 

“If I sit down I may never get up again.” Dan decided, and chose to prop himself up on a log, rather than sitting down on the ground entirely. He pulled his backpack off with a groan, sure that it had left imprints on his shoulders. 

 

“You never realised the apocalypse would put you on a health kick?” Phil grinned, and tossed Dan a sandwich from his own pack. 

 

“It’s like… the  _ ideal  _ workout plan.” Dan affixed the dulcet tones of his radio voice. ‘You might die, but you can still look good! Call our hotline today! Side effects include radiation poisoning, erectile dysfunction and sadness! Lots of sadness!’” He chuckled, but there was a ring of truth in all of it.

 

“Erectile dysfunction? Really?” Phil asked, entirely too casually, mouth jammed with sandwich.

 

“Who’s thinking about doing the do with anyone at times like this?” Dan exclaimed, tearing open the plastic around his sandwich with much gusto. “No-one goes through the shit we’ve gone through and thinks ‘hey, this is a  _ great  _ time to get it on with a stranger.’ No-one.”

 

“Movies would disagree.”

 

“Well, movies are wrong about a lot of things.” Dan bit into his sandwich, with considerable gusto. It was obvious that not having to walk around was making him rather joyous. “Love at first sight. No refractory periods. How hard it is to get a bra off, first time.”

 

“Wow…” Phil blinked at him. “Are you feeling alright? You’ve gone rather… manic.” 

 

“It is the increased blood flow to my head now that I’m not carrying that damn bag around, Phillip.” Dan said, very matter of factly, and wouldn’t say another word about it. 


	10. Chapter 10

“I could have made you spend the night in Cockfosters, Danny boy, stop complaining.”

 

“No you couldn’t have. It wasn’t far enough to stop. And I’m not complaining… I’m just pointing out a fact.” Dan was, indeed, just pointing out a fact. The little cottage they’d found on the outskirts of Highwood Hill only had one bed. One  _ tiny  _ bed. “We’re giants. We’re going to have to spoon if we share.”

 

“Got a problem with spooning me, Danny?” Phil said, and then he looked like he was trying (???) to wink, but just ended up failing miserably.

 

“Of course not. You’ve seen me at my lowest point and I feel like I’ve known you for the last ten years even though we only met a few days ago. I’m too depressed to even fantasize about this turning into a  _ Mulholland Drive- _ type scenario. It’s just the logistics of the thing.” Ah. Yes. That didn’t make things uncomfortable at all. Dan really needed to stop talking. 

 

Instead of picking up on the accidental slip he’d made, Phil furrowed his brow and sat down on the bed. “You’re getting a bit manic again. Are you feeling alright?”

 

“It’s probably worth mentioning that I should be on a cocktail of anti-anxiety meds right now.” He’d been alright for the first few days. Everything had been laid out for him, he’d had no need to worry, he’d been so tired from working that he had slept fine.

Being out in the wilderness hadn’t helped. There had been too many quiet moments. Too many instances where he could just think about bad things happening, and he didn’t need them in his life.

 

“You- uh- don’t have them with you?” Phil looked even more worried. Bless his heart, he was too kind.

 

“No, they were just a morning and evening thing. Didn’t have them with me at the station when everything went down. I’m  _ fine -  _ it’s just - I might get a bit manic or jittery or weird sometimes. It’s worse when I’m tired.” 

 

“Oh, Dan.” Phil sighed and looked at him with something akin to pity. 

 

He didn’t  _ need  _ pity. He’d been dealing with his annoying brain for many years, it just needed some… time. He would make it work. “It’s fine, seriously. It’s fine.”

 

“You should go to bed.” 

 

“It’s only about seven, surely? I’m not a child, Phil.”

 

“You had serious medical trauma only a couple of days ago. You’re not on the medication you’re supposed to be on. We’ve walked about 20 miles today and we’re both tired and grouchy. Go to bed.” Phil’s tone belied no argument. 

 

“You sound like my mum.”

 

“ _ You  _ need to learn proper self-care.”

 

“Fuck’s sake.” Dan muttered, but dumped his bag down on the bed and started fumbling through it for a toothbrush. “What will you do?”

 

“Pack our stuff for tomorrow. See if there’s any food around. Things like that.”

 

“Hmph.” Dan was pretty sure he could do those kind of things without hurting himself too much.

 

“Look, Dan, I know it seems like I’m babying you, and uh, I really, really don’t want to do that.” Phil looked up at him earnestly, eyes glinting in the dim light of the torch, and took his hand. “You just don’t get what it’s like to see someone bleed out in front of you. It was  _ horrifying.  _ Worse than anything I’d ever seen on tv. I can’t fix that if that happens out here. I can’t fix you like that.”

 

In all his years of existing, Dan had never had anyone care so much about him after such a short about of time. It was, frankly, a bit bizarre, and a little intense, but it felt  _ good.  _ A little too good. He laughed, a tad uncomfortably, “You won’t have to fix me like that. I swear it.” 

 

“Good.” Phil leapt up, gangly like a baby giraffe, the moment forgotten. “Go to bed.” 

 

“Aw, honey, without you?” 

 

“Shut up.” 


	11. Chapter 11

It was night.

The light of the moon streamed neatly through the gap in the curtains and settled right onto the corner of Dan’s pillow.

But it wasn’t that which woke him.

 

The hand over his mouth did that quite nicely.

 

“Don’t panic. Don’t make any noise.” Phil hissed in his ear, “There’s someone outside.”

 

They hadn’t seen anyone all day. It had been like the entire area had been deserted. He reached up, dragged Phil’s hand out of the way, “Why’d you wake me up?”

 

“You were talking in your sleep. Too loudly. Listen!”

 

And he listened. And he _heard._ “Jesus fuck, Phil, are those gunshots? Where the fuck do people get guns in England?”

 

“We’re in the country. Where do you think?” Phil fell silent, and just let him listen for a little while longer.

 

Gunshots. And laughter? Who on earth would be laughing at the end of the world? “Who are they?”

 

“I don’t know.” He said, face wan in the moonlight. “But I was… uh… talking to Stu before we left. The kind of people who don’t run in these situations - in places where things have gone so catastrophically wrong - you don’t want to mess with them. If someone’s enjoying someone else’s demise, there’s probably something wrong with them.”

 

And with that damning admonishment, another shot rang out. It was too close for comfort.

 

He still had Phil’s hand clasped in his own. It would have probably been the appropriate time to let go, but he couldn’t.

 

This wasn’t some half-baked apocalypse plot.

This was real.

And he was scared.

 

“On second thought, maybe we shouldn’t have left the school.” Dan whispered, hating how loud his heart seemed in the darkness, but being unable to do anything about it. “I’m sorry I dragged you out here. It was a dumb decision.”

 

Everlasting credit to Phil, because he didn’t try to romanticise the situation. “Yeah. It kinda was, a bit. But we couldn’t stay there forever.”

 

“Yeah.” He swallowed. It seemed abnormally loud. There was panic in there too - rising up his throat, paralysing him, making him breathe loudly and heavily. He was scared. It was too much. “Fuck. Fuck this. Fuck.” He gripped Phil’s hand even tighter. It was probably hurting him, but he couldn’t unfreeze his limbs from their strangled positions.

 

And that was when there was another gunshot - this one right outside - and someone started screaming.

 

It took him a moment to realise it wasn’t actually him.

It sounded like a woman, in pain. It was horrifying and violent and one of the worst sounds he’d ever heard. He struggled to move, to sit up, to do anything, but Phil held him down.

 

“Shhh. Shhhh. Don’t do anything dumb.” He hissed, in his ear.

 

“Someone’s hurt, we need to help-” His heart was thundering in his ears, and he couldn’t seem to take in a full breath. What was Phil doing?

 

“It’s a fox.” Phil replied, still too close. His breath warmed Dan’s ear every time he spoke. “Foxes can scream. A human would yell words. Just listen. It’s a fox. I’m pr- It’s a fox.”

 

The people outside stopped for a moment.

 

“Go and see what it is, idiot!” One person, who sounded like a man, ordered.

 

After several seconds of rustling around, someone else - this one a woman - said, “It’s a fucking fox. Nearly bit me too. What should I do with it?”

 

A fox. A _fox._ Thank god. Dan felt sorry for the fox, of course, but at least it wasn’t a human.

 

“What do you think?” The first voice said. “We can eat that.”

 

“Oh yeah, of course, boss.” The woman replied, and then, without applause, another shot rang out.

 

Phil flinched. It was the first time Dan had seen him look so - off-balanced. It wasn’t a good look.

 

“Hey, hey, Doug-” The new voice was younger, more inexperienced. “There’s a house over there - shall I check that one for food?”

 

Shit.

Shit shit shit shit shit.

That was their house. That was where _they_ were hiding. Dan didn’t even want to think about what would happen if the people outside got their hands on them.

 

“If they get inside, we hide.” Phil decided, face set flat. “Running would just make it worse. We don’t know this place.”

 

“Okay.” Dan whispered back, but he wasn’t sure if he agreed.

 

“Go on, then.” The male leader, who was presumably called Doug, said. “Quickly.”

 

The rustling outside drew closer and closer. Dan pressed a hand into his mouth to stifle his own breathing. Fuck. _Fuck._

 

“Oh, nah, wait - I remember that place, Dave.” The woman said, sounding disgruntled. “Went in there yesterday. Shit-all in the way of supplies. It’s not worth it.”

 

“Really?” Dave said, sounding rather put-out.

 

“Yeah. Totally stripped bare. Not worth it.”

 

“Okay.” Doug said. “Enough diversions. Get the fox and let’s go.”

 

Within moments, the rustling had moved away from the cottage, and down the road.

 

Dan couldn’t unclench his fists until he’d heard the laughing get a fair distance away. It took him a few moments.

He couldn’t even begin to quantify how close they’d come.

 

“Fuck me.” Phil breathed, and it was such a change from his usual tone that Dan could do nothing more than blink at him in shock for a few seconds.

 

“...Uh. Yeah. That was horrifying.” Dan replied, and then realised he was still holding onto Phil’s hand.

 

He let go, and Phil rubbed at it, wincing.

 

“Shit. Sorry.”

 

“It’s not a problem.” Phil said. “You’ve just got a very tight grip. I wasn’t really expecting that. Thank you. For keeping quiet. You know.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Dan turned onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. Any qualms he’d had - however little - about sharing the bed had gone after they’d both nearly been killed. “Fuck. I don’t know how I’m going to get back to sleep.”

 

“Same.” Phil huffed gently, from somewhere near his ear. “Want to cuddle? I’ve always found that positive physical touch helps cure my insomnia.”

 

The fact that he could joke _at all_ at a time like that was a testament to his mental fortitude. “Gosh, Phillip, are you propositioning me? At a time like this?”

 

“Absolutely not. I save that sort of behaviour until my fifth near-death experience.”

 

And Dan laughed, because it was all sorts of ridiculous, and he was feeling vaguely hysterical and he also might have been on the verge of tears. “Fuck it. Why not. Give me your best, Philly.”

 

“That’s a serious verbal contract you’ve just signed.” Phil said, with a touch of sleepiness to the edge of his voice. “I’m going to have to hold you to that.”

 

With that damning admonishment, Phil nestled into closer - which wasn’t hard, considering the bed situation - and flung an arm over Dan’s chest, very nearly hitting him in the face. He was all limbs and gangly knees for a bit, but the embrace softened, turned into something calmer, and warmer, and more comforting.

 

And.

 

You know.

 

It was nice.

 

Despite the whole ‘constant threat of death’ thing.


	12. Chapter 12

_ Thursday _

 

They didn't talk about the cuddling. It wasn't like they needed to, anyway. Two bros, terrified out of their minds, cuddling in a stranger's bed. It didn't have to mean anything. (Except it did, of course.)

 

Dan might have called it some kind of Stockholm Syndrome (if that could be a positive thing) but he was becoming oddly attached to Phil, despite their tiny amount of time together. It was like they got each other, okay? It made sense. If it hadn't been the end of the world they'd probably have been good friends. Maybe they might have been roommates. For like ten years or something. 

But, unfortunately, it was the end of the world, and things like that just couldn’t come to pass any more. 

 

They walked and they walked, and fortunately, didn't see too many people. 

 

"They all headed North." Phil explained, when Dan asked. "Or, at least I think they did. It was hard to pick up on the radio, but everything we heard just said to stay away from London. We had actually planned on packing up and leaving the day you arrived, actually, but the city was mad and then you came so - we all settled in for the long haul." 

 

"I am so, so thankful you were there." Dan said, "You have no idea. The people I was with before - ...they were ruthless." 

 

"My Welsh twin, eh?" 

 

"Yeah. They knew who I was, wanted to take me with them - and I didn't want to go. I refused."

 

“They knew who you were?”

 

“Yeah. Like I said, I don’t know why it mattered, but it seemed to. They were trying to take me some place - I couldn’t quite figure out where. Like I was a bargaining chip, or something.”

 

Phil looked him up and down and teased, “You? A bargaining chip? Now why would they need you for that?” 

 

“Shut up.” Dan nudged him in the side. “I’m a desirable person, okay? Most people want me around. Our country’s top broadcaster wanted me around.” 

 

“I’m… joking.”

 

“I know.” Dan nudged him again. “I’m very thankful for your company.”

 

“And I’m very thankful for yours. Even though you’re dragging me on a walk across half the country.” 

 

“Good.”

 

They smiled at each other. It was oddly pleasant, despite the circumstances.

  
  


The roads were quiet for most of the day. They weren’t just walking through bare landscape - they passed through small inlets and villages but hardly ran into anyone on the road.

 

There was a man leading a dog who looked up at them when they passed, but said nothing. He was dragging a supermarket trolley behind him, full almost to the brim with cans of food.

 

They didn’t talk. 

 

Phil looked longingly at the dog, which was a battered-looking Jack Russell, but didn’t make an attempt to pat it.

  
  


They reached Iver at about 5pm. It had been a long day, tiring, and the sun was beginning to set. It was odd to see a city so quiet - so blacked out - with no working streetlights to light the way.    
  
"You know Pinewood Studios is right up there?" Dan points at a road leading off to the north. "We could go up there, you know. Hide out at the home of James Bond. I'm sure it'd be vaguely safe."    
  
"Thought you wanted to get home?"    
  
"...yeah." He sighed. "It just - I don't know if it's even going to be there when I get there. I don't know what'll be waiting for us."   
  
"You just have to hope, I guess." Phil said, but the cheeriness in his voice didn't seem entirely sincere.   
  
"Sorry. I'm whining. You have no idea about your family’s condition and you can’t even get to them to check. I shouldn't be so selfish."    
  
"You're not being selfish -" Phil started, but didn’t say anything more when a branch cracking off the side of the road startled them both.   
  
It was too dark to make the figure out well at first - neither of them had eyes that were especially well-trained for dark nights, having spent far too long on bright computers in dark bedrooms in their youth - but then it stumbled out into the road and they both froze.   
  
'Zombified' was one word for it. 'Horrifying' was another.    
  
The figure was bloodied and nearly hairless. He - though that wasn’t even really apparent - was barely dressed, torn rags hanging off the ruin of his body. He was bloodied from the back too, and far from cognizant. It was horrifying and utterly, utterly brutal.    
  
They could smell him from many paces away.   
  
"Help me." He rasped, through cracked and burned lips, and stumbled towards them. "...please... Help me."   
  
"We need to go." Dan gripped onto Phil's shirt with one hand. "We need to go. Now."    
  
"Wait."    
  
"Wait?" Dan hissed, "What's - what's going on with him? We need to go."   
  
Phil just pushed him back, and stepped forward. "What happened to you?"   
  
"...I... Heathrow... bombs." The figure waved his arm in the direction of the road to the south. "...walked. Help. Please. Water?"   
  
"Water. We can do water." Phil unhooked one of the plastic water bottles they'd filled from his pack and rolled it towards the figure, who dropped to his knees to receive it. He hardly seemed focused on them after a moment, possessed only by the desire to unscrew the lid and hold it to his lips.    
  
He coughed. A bloody chunk of phlegm and flesh slid down his lips, but he didn’t seem to notice, consumed only by the water.    
  
"Sorry." Phil stared, almost transfixed, until Dan grabbed him by the wrist and tried to pull him away. "I'm so, so sorry."   
  
The figure didn’t respond.   
  
They walked off down the road, and the figure didn’t rise again, even though Phil kept looking back.   
  
"What the hell was that?" Once they were out of sight of the figure, Dan dragged him down to sit on a bench on the side of the road. "What the hell, Phil? What the fuck? That guy... didn't look real."    
  
"Radiation poisoning." Phil sighed, and wiped his hands on his pants. He didn’t even look like he knew that he was doing it. "I think. Maybe. Surely?"   
  
"He's not going to survive, is he?" Dan asked, though he already knows the answer.   
  
"He was probably dead the moment the bomb hit the ground."    
  
"I heard there were bombings in Farnborough. Croydon. Dartford. I heard nothing about Heathrow." Dan stared up at him, asking for answers that Phil couldn't even really give. Phil didn’t KNOW what was happening. He'd barely got any more information than Dan had, he was just quicker at making connections and figuring out logic.   
  
"Maybe they bombed there too. Afterwards. Or something. Look, if you wanted to stop a bunch of people from leaving a country, surely you'd take out the places that were the easiest to fly from. It'd make sense, wouldn't it? Surely. Surely?" The logic hardly sounded sound to Phil, but it was really all he had.    
  
"Yeah." Dan slumped back in his seat and pulled his legs up onto it. "I guess. God - just Phil, did you see his EYES? I mean, the whole thing was pretty horrible, but that was..."   
  
"Awful." Phil had. They'd been bloody, pupils completely blown and blood vessels torn asunder. It had been something he'd never wanted to see again.    
  
"Is that going to happen to us?" Dan seemed to hit on a topic and dissolve into panic within a few seconds of it. "I can't live like that. I can't get like that. Phil, if I start to get like that, I want you to -"   
  
"No." Phil said, very firmly, and stopped the thought in its tracks. "No. Me and the others, we'd spent days in that school. We'd seen no fallout, no nothing, and I've felt healthy the entire time. You don't feel sick, do you?" They'd said the symptoms of radiation poisoning on the radio - bleeding from orifices, skin peeling off, hair loss, confusion and fever - and Dan didn't seem to have any of those.    
  
"I don't."   
  
"Well, we'll keep on moving then. We need to find people to find any sort of hope of a cure for that kind of thing, anyway." Phil wasn't even really sure that they'd find people, at that point.   
  
They'd hardly seen anyone in three days.   
  
But they had to try. They had to.   
  
He was going to, at least. For Dan's sake.    
  
"Mmmm." Dan didn't seem happy, but he didn't argue. "Come on. Let's find a place."    
  
The building they settle on was a tiny flat, surrounded by trees and coated in a thin layer of dust and cobwebs. It was set back from the road, behind a high fence, and hardly seemed touched by the disaster, or even by any human hands at all. It was bizarrely untouched.     
  
There was only one bed, but there wasn’t even any discussion about it that time around. They just ate - protein bars, muesli, and tinned tuna - cleaned off (the building even had hot water - thank every deity for solar panels and the foresight of the former owners) and settled into bed. 

 

“Look, I don’t really want to say it, Phil,” Dan started, in the way that he did when it sounded like he was about to spin off into an anecdote. “But this is really fucking terrifying and I’d prefer for it to be over.”

 

The absurdity of the whole situation had been slowly building in Phil’s head for the entirety of the week and it finally seemed to hit him. “I  _ know. _ Like, it was pretty obvious that we were in an unstable time of history and all that, but this is  _ ridiculous.  _ Two weeks ago I used to take an Uber just to go to the shops and now I’m walking across half the country in the midst of a nuclear war. People are walking around with radiation poisoning, and so many others have died. And yes, my feet  _ hurt.  _ This is awful, and I’d also like it to be over.” 

 

Dan stared at him, as though vaguely taken aback by his outburst. “You know.” He ventured, “The stuff about the state of the world seemed vaguely tacked on. You seemed more concerned about your feet.”

 

“My feet really hurt, Daniel… and I don’t think I want to think more about the overall state of the world.” It’d hurt too much. 

 

“Understandably.” Dan looks at him, carefully, and lies back on the bed. He stares up at the ceiling and sighs. “That guy today - you know, for the tiniest moment I thought we were in  _ 28 Days Later,  _ right? And I hate that. I hate that my dumb mind always defaults to pop culture. We’re in the middle of the literal apocalypse and I’m still thinking ‘hey, I’m two minutes away from a jumpscare if I keep this up’. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. It’s diminishing the horrible things that have already happened.”   
  


“...do you think it’s a coping mechanism?” Phil asks, just as carefully, and lies down as well. The ceiling is pockmarked and criss-crossed with little cracks. 

 

“I think my stupid brain is stuck in the past.” Dan replies, “but maybe. Look at  _ you  _ though! With that guy today? You saw one of the most horrible things that anyone could ever see and you were cool as. You didn’t panic.”

 

“I was panicking inside. You should have felt my heartbeat. It was going faster than… I don’t know - a baby rabbit’s?”

 

Dan, apparently deciding to throw caution to the wind, slides a hand over and rests it on Phil’s chest, just above his heart. He waits and listens for a moment. “It’s not now.” 

 

“Don’t start anything you can’t finish.” Phil warns, quietly, not wanting to disrupt the silence, but also unsure about whether or not to appreciate the turn in events.

 

“Oh, it’s picked up.” Dan says, and looks up at him, eyes glittering in the moonlight. He doesn’t look devious, not quite, but rather worn out. Tense. Like a rubber band on the verge of snapping. He looks like he needs a hug.

 

Phil kisses him instead. 

 

Dan gasps, and shudders, just for a second, and then relaxes into the embrace. He goes boneless and pliable within minutes, like they’re not kissing in a stranger’s bed during the end of the world, but like they’re together, and safe, and sane, somewhere warm and dry and just their own.

 

“What are we doing…” Dan chants, under his breath, when they break apart for air. “It’s the end of the world, Phil.”

 

“Then we shouldn’t waste any more time.” And it’s cheesy, yes, he knows that - it’s  _ horribly  _ cheesy - but he’s not felt like this before. There’s… something between them. Something important. And real. Something that matters.

 

And he doesn’t want to lose it.

 

Dan snorts, and rests his head against his shoulder, just for a moment. “You’re a real piece of work, Philly,” he says, but he doesn’t move away.

 

The night is quiet, after that. 

**Author's Note:**

> hey come scream about fic to me at [ my tumblr](http://villainousfilmmaker.tumblr.com)


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